


A Woman He Works With

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Comment prompt, Episode: s04e15 Hunters, F/M, Salt in the wound of loneliness, alpha canon-compliant insert, easter egg to that UPN promo, here we go AU (chapter 2), it’s warm in Curitiba and cold in Bloomington because of the equator, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: Mark did the one thing Kathryn feels she can't — he dated, then married someone he works with. What does this mean for Kathryn ... especially if she had met Carla back on Earth?Now with a second chapter that goes AU J/C. Because (in Tilly voice) that’s the power of comments, people!
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway, Kathryn Janeway/Mark Johnson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 73
Collections: Cave Diving on Mars - Kathryn Janeway and Mark Johnson





	1. That Was Then

The words on the padd flow into each other.

_Since you've been gone, it's been so difficult for me to assume my existence would continue in any capacity beyond the most basic. I held out hope lost past what my friends and family deemed reasonable. But, I mourned you, Kath, and I started living my life again and now the pleas I made to you in absentia become real and I fear what you’ll think, but we’ve always been honest with each other._

_Kath, I married Carla._

_I’m sure you remember her._

_I’m sorry, Kath. I hope you find happiness, too, and, someday soon, a way home. _

Yes, Kathryn remembers Carla. 

Short.

Red hair.

Mouthy.

Goddamn, the man has a type.

The padd clatters onto Kathryn’s ready room table.

Her fingers rub her temples and her eyes drift closed.

***

“Carla Delacorte.” The woman stuck out her hand, thumb up, fingers locked together in a hard line. 

“Kathryn Janeway, nice to meet you.”

They shook hands, a quick, hard shake, and began to speak at the same time.

“Oh, sorry, please go ahead.” Carla’s strawberry blonde, choppy bob caught the sunlight. 

“I was going to say Mark talks about you often.” Kathryn’s auburn hair fell past her shoulders, but a few strands lifted in the breeze of the Questor Group Federation Day picnic. “Every subspace call seems to include, ‘Carla had an insightful contribution today’ or ‘Carla brings a wonderfully erudite perspective to our philosophical discussions.’”

Carla’s laugh was almost a giggle. 

“And I was going to say Mark has been so excited about your upcoming time on Earth. Your ship is under construction at Utopia Planitia?”

“That’s right.” Kathryn’s smile became a grin. “Starfleet is still working on a name, but it’s Intrepid-class and —” 

“Kath!” Mark’s head and shoulders emerged from his place at one of the long wooden tables packed with philosophers. “I thought you weren’t going to be here in time for the party. When did you get in?”

His arm slung around Kathryn’s waist and he kissed her cheek. She leaned against him, an automatic response after so many years as a couple, and told of an early transport and her hope to surprise him. 

“I’ll leave you two to catch up.” Carla’s gaze dropped to the grass.

“Hey,” Mark snapped his fingers, “that reminds me. I cleared a corner in the living room for Mollie to sleep. So, if you want to bring her from your house, you can.”

“You should see the way my mother spoils my dog,” Kathryn explained to Carla. “Toys, a doggie bed, homemade food.”

Carla nodded.

Mark pulled Kathryn by the waist. “Come see the corner I cleared. You’ll love it.”

“Nice to meet you, Carla,” Kathryn called over her shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Carla’s voice barely reached Kathryn’s ears as Kathryn and Mark strode away. 

“See you Monday, Carla,” Mark shouted. 

Kathryn whispered to Mark, “That was rather obvious.”

His hand dropped to her rear end. “It’s a heck of a corner.”

“That’s your story?”

“And I’m sticking to it.”

***

Kathryn blew steam from the top of her coffee. 

Carla settled in on the other side of the table, the bitter liquid in her cup tempered by cream and sugar. The small coffeehouse in Curitiba was full of the chatter of patrons, the scraping of chairs, and warm air that flowed in every time the door opened.

“While it’s nice to see you again, what was so important that you wanted to meet right away?” Kathryn asked.

“It’s about Mark.” Carla‘s hands were tight on her cup. “It’s only right that I make sure you know what’s going on.”

The last few months had been the most time Kathryn and Mark had spent together in years. 

Mollie had preferred Mark’s plush carpeting to the waste recycling mat in the bathroom, so Mark and Kathryn visited Mollie at Kathryn’s mother’s house where a doggie door to the outside served the Irish Setter’s toileting needs. Mark said he’d been considering changing his apartment’s flooring, anyway, and he and Kathryn chose hardwood planks and thick rugs.

Kathryn commuted to Utopia Planitia almost every day to check shipbuilding progress, learn schematics, and review potential crewmember personnel files.

Sharing a bed with Mark had her sleeping longer and later than she did aboard ships and one morning when she woke to sunlight streaming through the windows she teased him that he was bad for her productivity. He had pulled her close and murmured, “Go ahead and leave, then,” and she’d nuzzled his stubbly chin and said, “Not yet.”

But Carla was leaning over the small table, her brow furrowed as if something was terribly wrong. 

“What do you feel is going on, Carla?” Kathryn sipped her coffee. There was no need to display how rattled she was by the concern of a woman she barely knew.

“He’s really happy.” Carla’s face split into a smile of white, even teeth. “I’ve known him for close to a year and I’ve never seen him like this. He’s almost giddy.”

Exhaling, Kathryn waved her hand that wasn’t holding her coffee cup. “That’s Mark. He’s a cheerful guy.”

“No.” Carla shook her head. “He’s not. He’s a nice guy, an easygoing guy, but I wouldn’t call him particularly cheerful. When you work with someone you know them in a unique way and Mark is more productive, more inquisitive, just generally a better colleague and person since you’ve been here.”

“All right.” Kathryn set down her coffee cup. “I’m glad things are going well at Questor Group, but I’m curious as to why you’re sharing your insights with me.”

Carla set down her cup, too. She crossed her arms.

“I think you haven’t seen aspects of Mark that I have. So, now that you know he’s a happier man when he has a partner by his side, I think if you choose to leave again, then you’re choosing to hurt him and that’s not the behavior of someone who deserves a great guy like Mark.”

Kathryn couldn’t feel her feet — she couldn’t feel her body at all — but she stood anyway, her fingertips on the table for balance. “I think Mark’s happiness or hurt isn’t your concern, Carla, and I think you’ve overstepped propriety by expressing your opinion.”

Her nearly full cup still steaming on the table, Kathryn stalked out of the coffeehouse without a backward glance.

***

“Maybe,” Mark said on the walk to Kathryn’s mother’s house. It was cold, even for January in Indiana, and they wore coats and hats, scarves and gloves. Vapor from their breaths puffed in front of them and only the heated sidewalk protected their boots from slipping on the ice.

“ _Maybe_ she has a crush on you?” Kathryn fought not to stomp her foot like the child she had been when she and Mark met. “It’s _obvious_ , Mark. She was warning me of her intentions. What I don’t understand is why.”

“Carla’s been working on an analysis of Klingon philosophy and the honor of the warrior. But, this isn’t a battle.” Mark held Kathryn’s hand. “Whatever Carla may or may not think of me, I love you. That’s not going to change.”

The Janeway farmhouse came into view. 

“She thinks I’m gone too much,” Kathryn blurted. “She thinks I hurt you by being away.”

“Hey.” Mark stopped. He pulled off a glove. His warm fingers traced Kathryn’s chilled cheek, then his lips met hers. He spoke softly, their faces close. “Do I love it when you’re around? Yes. Would I ever want you to stop exploring? No. Your work sustains you as much as mine sustains me. Bacon, right?”

The philosopher Sir Francis Bacon established the scientific method. Mark always said the common ancestor to his work and Kathryn’s proved they had more in common than people might think, that they had a special understanding of each other.

“Bacon,” she murmured, her just-kissed lips tingling as her mother emerged and shouted from the front porch that, for heaven’s sake, it’s freezing out so come on in and also Mollie has been behaving strangely all week and should really be taken to the vet.

***

In her ready room, her eyes still closed, Kathryn mutters, “Bacon,” and wants to add, “Bullshit,” because it’s not true anymore, is it? She and Mark have climbed onto very different branches of what they always considered a shared tree of thought and it’s hard not to feel as if she’s on the shakier limb.

Because Questor Group isn’t Starfleet. Questor Group doesn’t have fraternization concerns or expectations of command protocol. If love blossomed at work, Mark and Carla could allow it to happen.

And, boy, is Kathryn sure Carla wanted it to happen.

But, on _Voyager_ , where everyone is someone she works with, a pang of jealousy slices through Kathryn’s chest. Not only has she lost the man she loved, but, if she ever hopes to find another partner, she may have to choose between her principles and her loneliness, between her Starfleet philosophy and her need to explore her own need for romantic love.

Because Carla was right, wasn’t she? There is an intimacy unique to knowing someone at work and socially. There’s something that makes the breath catch when a broad chest can be puffed out in briefing room argument or doubled over at dinner table laughter, when the same voice can clip out “captain” or breathe “Kathryn,” when a hand proffered on the bridge is identical yet completely different from the same tan, strong hand held out on the holodeck.

Kathryn opens her eyes.

She’ll make that decision if necessary, she tells herself. But not today. It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow or the next day. She still has plenty of time.

Plenty of time.


	2. This Is Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was done with this story. It was a one-shot, alpha canon-compliant exploration of the added cruelty of Mark marrying a woman he works with. Then, NikitaKaralis commented: “Sequel please! I want to see if she takes that hand in your universe!” I was ready to type appreciation for her sentiments but to politely say there would be no more ... when something very different came out of my fingers. Chapter 2 is AU and what I thought NikitaKaralis might have in mind. (And now I’m really done.)

Crewmembers who arrived alone leave the mess hall in pairs or small groups.

Neelix hums as he tidies up.

There were lips bit together in grief during a moment of silence for the Maquis in the Alpha Quadrant, then Chakotay's eyes closed as he spoke a prayer of remembrance. But, later, delighted laughter bounced off the bulkheads for good news from home — grandchildren, kindhearted friends, family members who never gave up hope.

And the partygoers didn’t blink when Kathryn arrived with her elbow hooked to Chakotay’s.

She mingled, of course, but she watched him, too. His arm around the shoulders of a former Maquis, his clap to the back of a Starfleet crewmember whose gravely ill mother recovered a few months into their time in the Delta Quadrant.

Once, Chakotay glanced up, caught Kathryn looking at him, and winked before resuming his conversation with a soft smile on his lips.

She didn’t bother trying to prevent the corners of her mouth from curling in the exact same way.

_... he’s a happier man when he has a partner by his side ... _

Carla’s words rattle in Kathryn’s brain.

Words as true for Chakotay as they were for Mark, aren’t they? True for Kathryn, too, as her mind turns to sun-streaked windows and lazy mornings in Curitiba ... and on New Earth.

But aboard ship? 

_... more productive, more inquisitive, just generally a better colleague and person since you’ve been here.... _

Yes, Carla thought companionship made Mark better at his job, but what about Chakotay? He long ago confirmed rumors Kathryn had heard about fistfights aboard the _Val Jean_ , how he would spit orders and prowl his ship like a caged beast primed for a fight.

He’s not like that on _Voyager_. 

And she’s not the remote commander she had been on the _Billings_ ... or any other posting.

Kathryn pushes Carla from her mind, thanks Neelix for arranging the party, and hooks an elbow with Chakotay’s. “Walk me home?”

His hand to her forearm is warm, even though her uniform. “It would be my pleasure.”

In Command School, instructors would jab the air with their index fingers as they stressed the importance of considering every decision from multiple angles, of weighing options in light of unique circumstances and only making a choice when analysis was complete or a need became urgent. But there was an older instructor, a grizzled little Betazoid whose dark eyes seemed to meet each member of the class when explaining that, at times, the right thing to do presents itself so clearly it’s like an alarm ringing.

And the klaxon between Kathryn’s ears is almost deafening. 

Yes, she has plenty of time. 

But she’s also considered her decision, weighed the unique circumstances — and realized the need is becoming urgent.

“I liked what you said about the Maquis,” she murmurs in the turbolift. “The prayer was lovely.”

“Thank you.” Chakotay turns to her. “I’m sorry about your letter. In some ways, a loss borne alone can be more difficult than one shared with a community.”

His brow is furrowed in concern, distorting his tattoo, and she aches to smooth the lines with her fingertips, to calm his hurt and her own.

She loved Mark, and Chakotay loved the Maquis.

But she knows neither of them would let lost love stop them from trying again. 

They walk the corridor, nodding to crewmembers who pass.

Kathryn taps the code for her quarters.

“Come in for a nightcap?” 

“Sure.”

She doesn’t call for lights, so they sip Ktarian wine by starlight, side by side on her sofa. 

“I was wondering if you might want to talk,” she says.

His cheeks swell in the shy smile she only sees off-duty. “About what?”

Kathryn wills her hand not to shake as she sets her wine glass on the coffee table. “Parameters.”

His face slackens in first officer surprise.

The last time they talked about parameters they woke up the next morning twined in each other’s arms. They had agreed such behavior wasn’t appropriate aboard ship, but, in the intervening eighteen months, they have endured blistering arguments and shared losses. Kathryn can tell when Chakotay is her friend and when he’s her subordinate — and he knows how to balance the two.

His words are soft as a breath. “A lot has happened since then, but I’ve always believed the ability to fight and make up, to separate and return together — those things strengthen a relationship in the long run.” 

If it were this afternoon in her ready room, she would have questions. She would ask him how things should be, whether she should indulge her feelings or hold fast to protocol.

But Kathryn has made her own observations, she’s heard Carla’s insistence and thought through Command School.

So Kathryn leans forward and presses her wine-wet lips to Chakotay’s.

When they wake up the next morning twined in each other’s arms, sunlight doesn’t stream through the viewport. This relationship could never be that simple. But someone she works with has become more, and Kathryn believes that’s enough for now.


End file.
